


He Didn't Have to Be

by Er0sennin



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Father Figures, I'm Bad At Summaries, Parenthood, Pregnancy, a story about found family, charon is a good man, just a little sweet background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Er0sennin/pseuds/Er0sennin
Summary: Charon never expected to be a free man, let alone a family man. But a young vault dweller stumbled into his life and changed everything.A side story expanding on the lives of Charon and Donna Rossi before her return to the vault.
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. The Ninth Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is a little background on my character Donna Rossi and her relationship with Charon from my other fic 'He Gets That From Me.' I've had one hell of a time with writer's block, so I thought I'd use this as a way to get back into the saddle. 
> 
> There are no spoilers here, and the way I've written it means you don't necessarily have to read the other fic to get what's going on in this one. Happy reading and prepare your heart for the fluff.

The first time Charon saw her, he was stuck at his usual post in The Ninth Circle.

Ahzrukhal was looming behind the bar and tapping his foot to some tune the radio had played about a hundred fucking times already. His employer nearly jumped out of his withered skin when the doors to the bar flung open, almost breaking the glass with how hard they struck the wall.

She’d stormed in, covered in blood and god knows what else, and went right up to the bar. First thing that caught his attention was that she was human, which was a rare sight in The Underworld. Second thing was that she wore an obnoxiously bright blue vault suit. Been a long time since he’d seen one of those.

It was hard to hear what she was saying over the blaring of the radio, but by her agitated hand gestures, he could tell she was pissed. She and Ahzrukhal bickered back and forth for a few moments before she reached over and turned off the radio.

“The radio stays on! People don’t drink when it’s quiet!” Ahzrukhal’s gravelly voice cut through the silence.

The woman pulled the radio towards her and swatted his hand away when he tried to turn it back on.

“Look, vaultie. I don’t know what your problem is, but either you fork over some caps and join the other bar guests or you can get out.” He attempted to wrangle the radio away from her.

“No, _you_ look!” Her voice was gruff and demanding. “I just spent four days getting shot at by fucking raiders, chased by some weird tentacled, multi-legged humanoid with a freakishly long tongue, and on my way in _here_ I got bit by a rat. And now you want to charge me thirty caps for some god damn food?”

“The prices are set.” He finally managed to get her to let go of the radio. “You pay for both the food and the ambiance. If you can’t afford it, then leave my bar immediately.”

“Those are scam prices and you know it!”

“Charon!” Ahzrukhal snapped his fingers.

Charon tried to stifle the angry shudder that coursed through his body. He hated when Ahzrukhal used his name. It was then that the vault dweller swung around, her eyes going wide when she spotted him in the corner.

The girl was a frail, almost pitiful looking thing. Long, tangled hair with sun-bleached streaks and eyes darker than he thought humanly possible. He could barely see her underneath all the bruises and desperation. If he had to shoot her, he would. He just hoped Ahzrukhal wouldn’t let it come to that.

Another human, an ammunition salesperson who went by Sydney, approached the bar. She seemed to know the vault dweller, as they’d hugged briefly. She fumbled around in her pocket and produced an ammo box, dumping it out on to the counter to reveal a decent amount of caps.

There was another short argument, this time between Sydney and Ahzrukhal, before a plate of food was dished up and handed over. If his employer wasn’t so hungry for caps, he was sure he’d have asked Charon to throw them both out. Or kill them.

Sydney draped an arm over the much shorter vault dweller and guided her to the back room.

The music went back on and Charon relaxed a bit.

He didn’t see that vault dweller again for about a week and a half, when she strode in sometime late during the night. She was looking a little more put together, with a few pieces of mottled leather armor over her vault suit, though a few bruises still lingered. Her hair was brushed into a low braid and a plasma rifle was slung over her back.

Even from his location at the corner of the room, he could see the smug smile on her face as she tipped over a bag of caps onto the bar top. Ahzrukhal was scowling but he handed over a can of purified water and a box of Fancy Lad cakes. He watched her thumb over her shoulder in Charon’s direction, and Ahzrukhal glanced over casually before turning back to her, bringing his head close and talking slowly.

They seemed to be bartering. The vault dweller waved another bag of caps in his face but the ghoul shook his head vehemently with a laugh that could be heard over the music. Charon loathed it when he laughed. All nasally and pompous. He wished someone would jam a knife into his throat.

The vault dweller strode over to the table closest to him and sat down, making a point to noisily drag her chair out and sigh happily. It was an odd choice. People actively kept their distance from Charon and they never sat at that particular table.

Charon tried to keep his gaze trained behind the bar.

“So… Charon, I think your name is. Right?” The vault dweller ripped open the plastic of the Fancy Lad cakes and popped one into her mouth. “Just wanted to thank you for not shooting me last week.”

His gaze flickered to her face briefly before returning to the bar.

“Ah, I get it. Not much of a talker. Yeah, your boss mentioned you were the strong silent type.” He could feel her intense gaze on his face. “I tried to buy your contract off of him but no dice. He’s more miser than ghoul.”

Charon was good at keeping his expression neutral, but he felt his upper lip twitch in surprise. Why this tiny vault dweller would want him in her employ was beyond him. She stood from her seat and walked over to him, stopping a good two feet away and crossing her arms over her chest.

Her eyes roamed from the top of his head, to the shotgun at his back, and down to his boots. Irritation bloomed in his gut at the idea of being leered at like some prize Brahmin up for auction. He wanted to tell her to fuck off and find some other lackey to waste her time on, but his contract forbade him from speaking unless spoken to by his employer. And Ahzrukhal was currently observing their exchange from across the room, eyes narrowed and shoulders squared. Asshole.

“I’m Donna.” She stuck out her hand. Charon didn’t even look at her this time. “Okay, guess you’re not big on physical contact either. Is that personal, or is it a part of your contract too?”

Silence.

“Hm.” A slender finger tapped her lips and she dared to take a step closer. “Interesting.”

She was close enough for him to feel her breath against his withered skin. It irked him beyond belief. The gentle smell of floral soap and leather invaded his senses as she brought her head around to inspect his weapon.

Charon prepared himself for another barrage of questions he wouldn’t be able to answer and tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t like anyone invading his personal space, let alone someone who was looking to buy him.

“Does he hurt you, Charon?” The woman asked. Her voice was soft and genuine. “I know you can’t answer my questions, but give me something. A twitch. A glare. That’s all you have to do.”

Huh. Now that was unexpected. He can’t remember the last time someone bothered to ask after his welfare. Charon looked at her fully. She was young, probably new to the wasteland. Probably still believed in justice for those who suffer at the hands of others. He wanted to tell her she was a fool.

A hand reached out to gently rest on his shoulder and he jerked away from her. He watched the muscles between her brows knit together, watched her mouth turn downward and her eyes darken. That look in her gaze was familiar, it reflected his own, and he knew instantly that her ire wasn’t directed at him.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Was the last thing he heard as she scooped up the remainder of her snack and headed out the door.

Donna arrived the very next night, like she said she would. This time, Ahzrukhal didn’t seem shocked or annoyed at her arrival, and he motioned for her to join him at the bar. She pulled out a barstool and took a seat, her expression not as smug as the night prior. Her face was stolid and serious and it aged her immensely. 

They were bartering again. Ahzrukhal kept a smarmy grin on his face as they interacted, he looked pleased. Donna kept shaking her head and gesturing wildly and, at one point, she poked his employer in the chest. To his surprise, Ahzrukhal didn’t snap his fingers and tell Charon to put her in her place. Instead he just laughed with his arms wide and then turned to the safe he kept behind the bar.

They exchanged an envelope. The ghoul slid it to her over the bar top and she snatched it away from him. They spent an inordinate amount of time talking, their heads low together like they were plotting something. Exchanging hushed words that only they were allowed to hear. For some reason, that bothered him.

The caps came out again and they exchanged a few items. He noticed a stimpak or two and a couple of boxes of dried goods. When she seemed satisfied she went to stand when Ahzrukhal stuck his hand out for her to shake it. Donna gave him a scathing once over and smacked his hand away before turning back, locking eyes with Charon. He didn’t know what her fascination was with him but he’d had about enough of it. 

Predictably, she trotted over to him, envelope clutched between slender fingers. There was a sort of newfound energy permeating the air, and it was coming from her. She seemed lighter, almost cheerful, and she waved the paper in front of her like it was a tantalizing treat.

“Charon!” She beamed. “I’ve got some good news.”

She paused for dramatic effect. Boots thumped against the ground as she moved closer, back into his personal space. That floral smell reemerged and it invaded his senses, so strong he could taste it.

“I’m your employer now.” A huge smile cracked her features.

Charon blinked. Once. Twice.

“You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?”

“Damn straight I did.” A gasp left her lips. “Oh… your voice! It’s rough, kind of gravelly. I like it.”

“So…” he started, wondering if that truly was a compliment or not. “I am no longer in his service.”

“Nope. Fuck him.” She was proud of herself. “As of today, you’re officially under my employ. But--”

“That is good to know. Please,” he interrupted her with a growl, “wait here. I must take care of something.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond. Charon pushed past her, leaving her aura of soap and overwhelming elation, and slowly worked his way over to Ahzrukhal. At the sight of him, his former employer took a step back, putting a safe distance between them. He seemed nervous. He sure as hell had reason to be.

Charon loomed over Ahzrukhal by a good foot and he glared down at the ghoul, making sure to channel every bit of fiery rage he had to his eyes and squared his shoulders. He balled his hands at his sides, fingers clenching so tightly his nails began to cut into the meat of his palm. 

All those hours spent backed into a corner. Not being allowed to rest. To sleep. To eat. Barred from speaking. Forced to hurt people who hadn’t really done anything to deserve it. Only allowing him out of the bar to make chem runs, to assist slavers, and leasing him out to the lowest dregs of the capital wastes. 

“Ahzrukhal,” Charon finally spoke after a beat. “I am told I am no longer in your service.”

“That’s right Charon.” Ahzrukhal replied slowly, aloof. “Have you come to say goodbye?”

“Yes.” Charon hissed.

Without hesitation, Charon withdrew the weapon from his back and pointed the barrel at his former employer. Ahzrukhal’s jaw slid open and he threw his arms up and over his face, as if that would be enough to protect him. Charon might not believe in justice anymore, but that didn’t mean he was going to let this bastard walk away unscathed. He wondered briefly if his new employer would try to stop him but he could sense her at his back, a silent observer.

A pop was heard when he pulled the trigger. Someone, somewhere behind him let out a scream.

Ahzrukhal’s head snapped backward from the force of the bullet and his blood spattered against the walls, coating every inch of the bar. His body crumpled to the ground with a thud, his eyes twisted towards the ceiling, now forever unseeing. Charon gave the bastard a kick to the stomach for good measure.

Without uttering a word, he turned on his heel and back to Donna, who was staring at him from beneath furrowed brows.

“Alright. Let’s go.” He looped his weapon over his shoulder.

“Charon, what the fuck was that?” She was calm, studying him with intense dark eyes. “I hated the asshole too, but…”

“So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded. But now you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting bastard.” Charon didn’t enjoy her scrutiny. “And now, for good or ill, I serve you.”

“Well… I can’t say I blame you. I guess this is just how things work up here.” Donna sighed. She pulled out the envelope and held it up for him to see. “I wanted to talk to you about this.”

“My contract.”

“Yes, your contract. You rushed off before I could continue fleshing out the details.”

An eyebrow quirked slightly and she pinched the paper at adjacent corners. Then, without another word, she tore it in half. 

Then pain, hot and searing, snapped somewhere behind his eyes and he hissed. It coiled around the base of his skull and traversed the nerves along his back, arms, and all the way to the soles of his feet. It was as if everything in his body rejected the concept of a nullified contract. Being a slave was programmed right into the minutiae of his being, his very cells, and it was all he'd known for the past two-hundred years. The pain rocketed through him once more and his vision wavered. 

His new employer was too engrossed in what she was doing to notice his discomfort.

She continued to tear the paper, shearing it into small squares, and then tossed the mess onto the floor. The pile exploded like little pieces of confetti and he watched as it scattered everywhere, one square landing directly atop her boot. With an annoyed grunt, she shook her foot and dislodged the paper.

Vomit crept up the back of his throat and he swallowed thickly, willing the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his brain to cease. It took every ounce of strength he had to not collapse to the floor right then and there and cradle his head in his hands. The vault dweller was still completely unawares.

“There. That’s better.” Donna clapped her hands together. “No more contract. Charon, you’re a free man. You have no master and will not be bound in servitude to a piece of paper.”

“What…” he continued to stare, his thoughts creeping at half speed, trying to traverse the scramble and the fog. 

He opened his mouth again to speak but the words died on his tongue. She regarded him peculiarly, perhaps finally picking up on his well-disguised malaise, and eyed the destroyed contract on the floor. She shuffled awkwardly.

“I’m sure this is confusing.”

Charon squeezed his eyes shut with a deep sigh, noticing the pain had started to ebb away, though it still lingered just on the fringes of his consciousness. With some force, he cracked his eyes open and realized she was staring at him with obvious concern; waiting for him to say something.

“This means I am no longer in your service.” He managed to ground out. 

“Uh, correct.” There was a nervous laugh. “Although, I hope I haven’t done anything to incur the same wrath you bestowed upon your former employer.”

Charon looked back at Ahzrukhal, ignoring the way the world wobbled around him as his gaze wandered. A few of the other ghoul patrons had gathered around his body, muttering behind their hands and throwing suspicious glances in Charon’s direction.

The weight of what had just transpired started to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Without a contract binding him to anyone or any place, he was truly permitted to go and do whatever he saw fit. But, what could he do? What purpose did he hold if he weren’t in the service of another, doing their bidding? He can’t even remember a time when he had the free will to do anything of his own volition. 

His head swiveled back to Donna. “Why would you do this?”

“The idea of indentured servitude… well, I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit right with me.” Donna gave him a sheepish grin and rubbed a hand along the back of her neck. “After my first night here, when I got your full story from Ahzrukhal, I couldn’t get you out of my head. Even when I left and took a few odd jobs to up my cap supply, my mind kept drifting back to you. Take that as you will, but… I felt like I had to do something.”

 _Couldn’t get him out of her head_. Charon chewed on that statement for a moment. It made the bottom of his stomach flutter and he grimaced, pushing that sensation somewhere deep down. He wanted to understand why. Wanted to put those jagged little puzzle pieces together to help him see the bigger picture. He found it hard to believe this young vault dweller would free him out of the kindness of her heart. People just didn’t do that kind of thing, especially for a ghoul like him.

“So you bought my contract only to tear it up?” He queried, pinching the bridge of his nose for relief. 

“Yeah. I wasn’t even sure if tearing it up would work, but here we are.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t technically buy it. It was a trade, but I managed to squeak around that without getting my hands dirty. Dumb bastard wasn’t any the wiser, either.”

“What do you want in exchange?” He asked sharply. There had to be a catch. 

“Uh…” There was an odd expression on her face, one he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want anything, Charon.”

“People always want something. They don’t just free people on a whim. That is not how it works.”

At this, her face contorted into something sharp and fuming. Her brows knotted together and she bared her teeth just a little. Huh. He kind of liked that look on her.

“Listen, dick. The only thing I want is for you to get your ass out there into the world and find something good to do with your life. Got it?”

Charon looked down at her, all raised hackles and sharp teeth, and thought she looked something akin to a feral cat. The woman was short, barely reached his chest, and she had to crane her neck in order to shoot him that contemptuous look. Seemed this vault dweller had a short fuse, especially if she felt slighted.

His voice was a fraction softer when he replied, “Got it.”

“Good.”

“I choose to follow you.”

Donna froze and he could see every ounce of irritation melt away. Wide eyes found his own, her gaze bouncing back and forth, tracing the lines of his face. Trying to gauge if he was serious.

“Why?”

“Because I am free now and I can make my own path, as you said.” Charon replied easily. “And my path starts with you.”

There was a sort of smothered sound that came out of her throat as she gawked. A flush deepened her complexion and she quickly looked away, making sure to step back a few paces. She ran a hand over her face and it settled over her mouth, foot tapping away in thought. He was sure she was going to tell him to fuck off. After all, she hadn’t gone into this with the actual intention of buying someone. It might not fit in to whatever plans she’d been cooking up for herself.

“That’s not what I expected you to do.” Donna said through her palm. “Well, shit.”

“Should we get going? I think we are overstaying our welcome.”

Donna peered around him and eyed the ghouls who were grouped near Ahzrukhal’s body. Not that they would actually try anything. Charon had a reputation with the community in the Underworld and most knew not to try and mess with him. But that didn’t mean he wanted to linger any longer than necessary.

“Very well.” Her shoulders slumped dramatically. “Let’s go. I have to meet up with a scientist in Rivet City.”

Charon simply nodded and followed her lead; followed her out of the Underworld and down a strange new road as a free man.


	2. Baby, Let's Play House

The ship ached and groaned as Charon stood poised outside the clinic, shotgun in hand. He was instructed to stay there until he was needed, so there he waited. This role was one he knew how to fill; for many years he was merely a silent sentinel in the corner of a bar, only to be utilized when some rowdy patron needed to be put in their place.

The halls of Rivet City were barely high enough to accommodate him. So he stood awkwardly, slightly hunched, a solid stalwart figure against rusted metal and nauseating gray. Every now and then, some settler would walk by and flinch when he caught their eye. He can imagine what thought flickered through their minds when they saw him lingering in the slightly too dark corridors of the ship. It was a surprise no one had tried to attack him yet.

He was never fond of this place, especially with their less reputable treatment towards ghouls, but Donna was adamant about making a stop here. When he asked why Rivet City specifically, seeing as Megaton had its own clinic and was much closer, she had brushed it off as a preference thing. Guess Doc Church was not competent enough.

There was a scientist here that they had visited prior, someone who was close with Donna’s dad. But Donna told him, very clearly, that they would most definitely not be seeing anyone aboard Rivet City during their visit—outside of the doctor, that is. It was odd because usually she made any excuse she could to swing by and antagonize Harkness, Rivet City’s own head of security. She had it out for him.

Harkness had made the mistake of throwing a few ghoul-related slurs in Charon’s direction the first time they boarded the carrier. Poor man didn’t realize he was playing with fire. Donna had regularly smashed the kneecaps and noses of those who made Charon the butt of any cruel joke, much to his vexation. It seemed she did not listen to him when he said she need not defend his honor because, as an instrument of destruction of death, he had none. 

And Harkness, despite his title and position, was not safe from her fury. Charon had watched the way her eyes sizzled, wild and dangerous like nuclear fire, when Harkness demanded she leave her ‘pet’ outside. If Charon hadn’t grabbed her arm when he did, he was sure she would’ve stabbed the man in the neck, and he was confident that they could not take the entirety of Rivet City’s security.

So the fact that she made a point to try and keep this visit under wraps was disconcerting. It was very unlike her. Donna Rossi was neither quiet nor muted; she was boisterous and never willing to shy away from others. But she had been marginally tight-lipped and docile since they began their trek here.

Normally he was not one to pry into someone’s personal life, but there were a few deviations from her typical behavior over the last two weeks.

In the mornings she would wake up absolutely sick to her stomach and refused to eat anything, only taking big gulps of water from the canteen. She also fatigued substantially faster and started requiring more stops, which was not that big of an issue, but stopping anywhere without proper cover and planning left them wide open to attack.

Then there was the stomach pains. He thought maybe he had been a bit too rough the last time he had to drag her ass out of the line of fire, but the pain seemed to persist long after.

Charon assumed it was radiation poisoning. She was still new to the surface, only been out for about a month, and regulating the amount of rads one comes into contact with can be tricky. But the minimal supply of radaway they had did not seem to put a dent in her symptoms. He hoped the doctor might have something a little more potent to alleviate her discomfort. 

The hatch to the clinic swung open and out walked a short man in a lab coat. Wild and white hair shagged over his eyes and he pushed his glasses up a bit, shooting Charon an odd look.

“Ah… are you Charon?”

“Yes.”

“Good lord, you’re a lot taller than she described.” The older man gawked at him before resuming a professional tone. “I’m Dr. Preston, I’m the physician currently treating Miss Donna. She requested I bring you to the back to wait with her while I prep for the procedure.”

“What procedure?” Charon growled, following the doctor through the door. 

If Charon’s tone bothered him at all, he did not show it.

“I’m afraid I can’t elaborate on the details quite yet, Mister Charon. Doctor patient confidentiality.” The doctor lead him through an empty waiting room and then down a long corridor. “If she so wishes, I can share the information with you. But we do need her approval.”

“Alright.” Charon did not like feeling shut out. “Is she okay?”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said easily. They came to a stop at one of the hatches and he gestured to it. “This is her room. Go on in and call for us if you need anything in the meantime.”

Charon nodded brusquely and opened the hatch, having to duck in order to fit through it. The room was well lit, clean, and a few light boards hung on the wall with various x-rays that definitely did not belong to Donna. He warily eyed the tray of sterilized implements, the scalpel in particular; weird memories from another lifetime trying to force their way through the back of his brain.

A privacy curtain was pulled around the bed and he stood outside of it. A weird sense of trepidation twisted his stomach into knots and he hesitated to call out to her. Something did not feel right.

After a lengthy silence, he heard her voice. It was uncharacteristically small. “Charon?”

He finally pulled the curtain back. Donna was stripped down to her tank top and fatigue pants and stretched out on the bed, a forlorn arm draped over her eyes. It was not until he stepped closer that she peeked out at him, eyes red-rimmed and wide. Her cheeks were splotchy and flushed, the normal warmth to her sun-kissed skin now pallid and ashen.

“Tell me what has happened,” he ground out.

Donna buried her eyes behind her arm again and turned away, her body shivering with suppressed sobs. Her other hand came up to clamp down over her mouth and she simply shook her head. The sight of it was enough to make the knots in his stomach tighten further.

He idly wondered if he should touch her, console her, but decided against it. It was not his place. Charon’s hands were not designed to comfort. But then those dark eyes were on him, large pools of swirling onyx, deep with some primal sort of fear that he did not understand, and he struggled not to pull her to him.

“Tell me,” he rasped.

“He said it’s not radiation poisoning,” her words came out between deep, ragged breaths. “The symptoms I’ve been experiencing are from something else.”

“Please explain.”

“I just don’t get how this could happen… I thought we were safe,” she started mumbling to herself. “I’m too young. Too inexperienced.”

Charon did not like the sound of that but he let her continue, because he was not sure how to respond.

“The nausea, the fatigue, the stomach pains, the missed periods,” she proper herself up and started counting on her fingers. “I learned all of that in the clinic. I read all of those stupid medical books and yet I still didn’t put two and two together. I just thought it was stress! Lord... I’m an absolute idiot.”

Charon was thoroughly confused. “I do not understand.”

She jumped and looked at him as if she’d completely forgotten he was there. The air had become thick and Charon noticed the sheen of sweat across her forehead. Little pearls of moisture started to cascade down her face and she shook her head again, reaching her hand out as if what she wanted to convey would materialize before them.

A deep breath. A few mumbled words he had to strain to hear. When his puzzled look remained, Donna buried her face in her hands with a heavy, frustrated groan.

“I’m pregnant.”

It took a moment for that one to land. The words entered his ears and he felt his brain trying to process the information like a very slow, very old computer. All he could do was stare blankly at her, mouth slightly agape, trying to form the right response. The words were just there on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite string them together, couldn’t put them in the right order.

“…. how?” the first tangible question to escape his lips. 

The flush to her cheeks deepened. “I think you probably know how it happened.”

“That is not what I meant,” he recovered quickly. “I have not seen you participate in… that kind of behavior.”

“Uh…heh,” she cleared her throat, suddenly bashful. “No. I haven’t really found the time to indulge in that sort of thing, Charon.”

“Who is…?” He ventured, wondering if he had any right to know at all.

“The dad?” He nodded. “It was someone from the vault. His name was… _is_ Butch.” The answer came easily. She was always honest with him.

The way his name slid from her tongue was interesting. It was tinged with longing as her mouth rounded out its single syllable. All Charon could think about was how ridiculous of a name Butch was.

“He said he was going to perform a procedure,” Charon broached carefully.

Donna nodded. “Yeah, he’s going to see if their portable ultrasound works. He wants to make sure everything is progressing the way it should be. He thinks I’m about eight weeks along.”

“You are going to keep it, then.”

It was not a question because he need not ask her. He could see her decision written all over her face. It was there in bloodshot sclera of her eyes, in the small downturn of her mouth, and the silent tears that continued to cut down her cheek.

“Yeah.” Donna placed her small hand against the plane of her stomach. “Can you imagine me trying to take down a super mutant with a huge belly?”

“No, I cannot.”

“Me either.” It was a huff, a small gesture. Trying to bring some semblance of humor back to their usual repartee. “I’m sorry, Charon.”

“For what?” He threw her a perplexed glance.

“We’ve only been partnered for a few weeks now, so I can imagine how awkward it must be seeing me like this. I’m just… well, I’m fucking terrified and you’re the closest thing I have to a friend out here.”

_Friend._

Charon let that word settle over his shoulders like a warm blanket. In all his years in servitude, not one person has referred to him as a friend.

But he had to remind himself that he was no longer a slave, that what he had with this slight vault dweller was not loyalty bound by obligation. Their bond was not contrived or held together by faded words on a piece of paper. He was at her side by his own choosing. He protected her with his life because _wanted_ to.

A touch. Her fingers were pressed into the back of his hand, tracing the cracks and crevices of his withered skin; outlining the sinewy exposed muscles. He allowed her this indulgence without pulling away.

“I understand if you want to part ways.” She said. “I wouldn’t blame you. Making sure I don’t get myself killed is hard enough by itself, I can’t ask you to stick around and try to take care of both of us.”

“No,” he replied so quickly he surprised himself. “I go where you go.”

“Charon…” she trailed off. “You’re no longer--”

“I know.” He interrupted. “When you purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal and released me from servitude, you told me to make my own path in any way I see fit. What did I say to you after that?”

Donna’s eyes glimmered and she looked away. “Your path starts with me.”

“That has not changed.” Charon was not good at being tender, or kind, but he could try. “It is as you said, Donna. We are… friends.”

That word was foreign to him and it came out awkward and stiff, not hitting his ears right at all. But that didn’t seem to matter to Donna. A smile cracked her features, pulled on her face until it wrinkled her eyes and dimpled her cheeks. He mentally promised to make her smile more often.

She opened her mouth to speak but just at that moment, the hatch to their room swung open. The doctor walked in holding a small device attached to something that looked like a probe.

“Hello, Miss Donna. Mister Charon, if you could step out into the hall, we will begin the procedure now.”

“I’d like for him to stay.” The fingers were back on his hand, but he did not mind. “Charon, would you like to see?”

Charon shrugged his response. He was rather indifferent to the fetus and it didn’t matter if he saw it today or months from now when it’s finally born. But Donna’s face was an open book, her emotions pages one could easily thumb through; raw and vulnerable. This was a big moment in her life and she wanted to share it with him.

The doctor observed the joined hands and that odd look was back. Charon could practically see the gears churning in his brain before something snapped into place.

“Oh, I see. How unusual,” he tittered. “Very well.”

Dr. Preston pulled a chair from the far end of the room and positioned at her bedside. He balanced the ultrasound at her feet and pulled the hem of Donna’s fatigues down, smearing some kind of clear gel on her stomach. Donna shuddered.

“I know, that gel can be pretty cold. Okay, let’s see how baby’s doing.” He fired up the device and pressed the probe to her stomach. “Might take a few seconds to find.”

The silence was palpable and overwhelming. Charon watched the screen on the small monitor with growing fascination, not really sure what they were supposed to be looking at. Everything was fuzzy and gray with small bits of black emerging each time the doctor adjusted the probe.

“Now, I must say I’m incredibly surprised to see a ghoul and a human successfully reproduce. From what is known about ghoul biology, the amount of radiation exposure that creates the transition also renders them infertile.”

Both Donna and Charon snapped at attention, exchanging bewildered looks, Donna’s face burning from forehead to chin. It looked like she wanted to correct him but the doctor kept talking.

“I suppose it’s plausible if the implantation occurred before ghoulification. But by the looks of you, Mister Charon, you have an advanced mutation.”

“Uh, Dr. Preston?”

“Yes?” 

“Charon… he, uh. Well, he’s not--”

“I am _not_ the father.”

Dr. Preston’s face fell for a moment as if this was the most disappointing news he’d received all week.

“Oh, how embarrassing. Forgive my presumptuousness.” The doctor’s gaze didn’t leave the screen as he was talking, and for a second his eyebrows rose and his forehead wrinkled. “Aha! Found the little bugger.”

With the flick of his free hand, Dr. Preston activated a switch on the side of the screen. Then a sound filled the room that Charon could only describe as a low hum, something contracting and pulsing and vibrating. He felt the very cells in his body align with it; an incredibly warm sensation that caused the nerves along his spine to jolt to life.

There was a soft sigh from his partner and his eyes slid closed, trying to control the erratic rise and fall of his diaphragm. This sound was unlike anything he’d heard in his entire two centuries of living.

Donna’s feather-light touch was now on his bicep and he didn’t hesitate to fully envelop her hand with both of his. It was trembling and cold and he tightened his grip. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that her tears were no longer present and she was studying the screen with an intense fascination.

“See that right there?” A finger gestured to a light colored blob in a pool of black.

A wrinkle formed between her brows as she squinted. “That jelly-bean shaped thing?”

The doctor laughed, dry and raspy. “Yes. That’s the fetus, and it’s about the size I was expecting. So I think it’s safe to conclude that you’re eight weeks along.”

Charon couldn’t help his curiosity and he leaned over, taking a closer look. How something so small could make such noise, could impact him so greatly, was baffling. In the matter of a few minutes he went from indifferent to suddenly caring about this tiny clump of cells’ welfare.

“And everything looks okay?” Charon was startled by his own voice.

“From what I can see, yes. But it’s hard to tell if there are any malformations this early on. I would recommend that Donna returns at least once a month so we can keep close tabs on baby’s progress.” The doctor rose and withdrew a clean towel from the counter, wiping the remaining gel from her belly. “When your due date approaches, those visits will have to be more frequent. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Once a month?” Donna fretted. “That’s a lot of traveling, doctor. We live in Megaton.”

“Is there a physician there who can adequately accommodate your pregnancy?”

“No.” Charon answered first. “That is why we are here.”

“Well, maybe you can make use of the spare rooms in the upper decks. I’m sure there’s something that can be made available to you.” He began to put away the portable ultrasound. “It really is in your best interest. And baby’s.”

Charon looked down at Donna. The distance between Megaton and Rivet City was vast; nearly four days’ worth of walking. If traveling now was difficult, with her being barely two months in, he could only imagine how much worse it would get the farther along she progressed. But he would be there regardless of what she chose, even if it meant living in Rivet City for the foreseeable future.

“I don’t know…” Donna sucked on her bottom lip. She turned her face up to him. “What do you think, Charon?”

It still struck him as odd that someone cared what he thought. He cleared his throat and looked up to the doctor, who was lingering near the hatch and wiping his face with a handkerchief. This did not seem like his decision to make.

“Whatever you decide, I will be there.” He said simply.

Donna laughed lightly at that. “For good or for ill, right?”

“Yes.”

Donna released his hand and began to redress. Charon fetched her duster from the foot of the examination table and proffered it to her. She was a little wobbly on her feet and he could tell she was exhausted.

“We’ll get a room here for tonight and figure out our next steps.” She pulled the duster on and aligned the collar. “Dr. Preston, please put us down for next month.”

“Glad to hear it.” He fumbled a hand in the pocket of his lab coat and produced some pieces of printed paper. “Here are some educational brochures to read in the meantime.”

Charon grabbed them from his extended hand and took a look at the first booklet. A family looked back up at him, all smiling faces and intact skin, and he ignored the weird tug in his gut. But Donna was next to him and took the booklet from his hands and tossed them in her bag without a second glance, shooting a pleasant smile at the doctor on their way out.

It wasn’t until they were posted up in The Weatherly Hotel, and Donna was fast asleep, that he pulled out those brochures and thumbed through them.

Charon was trained in almost every form of combat imaginable. He knew how to use any weapon handed to him. He could track a single man across DC without issue and had more kills under his belt than he could count. But children? That was a foreign and surprisingly daunting concept.

It was one thing to physically protect Donna from any outward threat, but what about the non-physical? What about when she was sick, or if something happened to the baby—would he be able to tell? Could he get her the help and resources she needed? If he was going to remain at her side and see this through, it had to be done the right way; of this much he was certain.

He looked over his shoulder at Donna’s sleeping form. She'd cocooned herself within the blankets and was lightly snoring; dark blonde hair tousled with sleep and a slight trail of drool seeping from her open mouth. With as much grace his lumbering form could muster, as to not wake her, he exited their shared room and stepped out into the hall. He found a spot on a steel bench in what he supposed was a waiting area and cracked open the brochure, letting his eyes scan the words in the dingy yellow fluorescent light.

“Now, that’s some interesting night reading.”

Charon glanced out of the corner of his eye. It was Vera, the hotel’s publican. Donna had struck up a long conversation with her during their check-in and she seemed pleasant enough.

“Hm.” He grunted.

“I could tell you weren’t much of a talker,” she laughed lightly. “Either there’s something I don’t know about how male ghouls procreate or that young lady you’re traveling with is in the family way.”

“It is not my place to say,” he replied curtly, flipping the page.

It was a beat before she spoke up again. “Oh, he’s respectful? How refreshing.”

“Is there something you need?” Charon sighed and folded the booklet in his lap, keeping his thumb wedged in between the pages as a bookmark.

“Ah,” the blonde chuckled sheepishly, “no. I was just doing my rounds and thought I’d stop by to say hello.”

Charon narrowed his eyes a bit and knew full well she was just being nosy. The booklet was open again and he returned to his marked page, becoming particularly engrossed in a chapter about water retention.

“But uh… you seem busy so I’ll let you be.” She went to leave but faltered. “I do have to say though… if she is expecting, it’s very sweet of you, as a friend, to take it upon yourself to get educated.”

He paused at that and glanced up once more, but she’d already retreated to her room behind the main desk. Sweet was another word he’d never imagined someone would use to describe him or his actions. That odd feeling was back, nestled right between his ribs, and he shrugged his shoulders as if he could merely brush it away.

The booklet felt heavy in his hands and he idly smoothed a rough finger against it. He wasn’t sure if education was going to be enough, as he usually relied on his experience to navigate through most issues. But he would try, for Donna.

He would do it the right way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if Charon is a little OC. I am trying my best.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I know that Charon's contract shouldn't be so easy to break, but for brevity's sake I decided to take that route. By no means is his brainwashing/training just completely erased. We'll see complications from it as time goes on.


End file.
